


Une Balle, Un Mort

by Katarina_Claire



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Overwatch - Freeform, Torture, add me y'all, blizzard, but you're in the overwatch fandom so you're probably good, my bnet is jekka#11477, this is how u do it, this is how you make an assassin, yeah listen this ain't for the faint hearted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarina_Claire/pseuds/Katarina_Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how you make an assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Une Balle, Un Mort

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obsessed with this game and obsessed with this character.  
> More OW stuff coming up.

Amélie screamed and struggled against the arms holding her. Her arms were pinned against her sides and there was a hand on her mouth, muffling the screams that she prayed would reach her husband. He was in the other room, distracted by something, and it was just too easy to pull her out the door. As the panic began to die down, fear flooded her system.

_Talon. They’re after me._

She bit down on the hand over her mouth. She was released for a split second. She tried to run, but only made it a step before a gun met the side of her head. She felt no pain, as darkness consumed her instantaneously.

            _Somebody help me._

* * *

 

            When Amélie opened her eyes, she almost forgot what had happened. She expected to be covered in bed sheets and to have an arm around her waist. A shiver ran through her spine when she realized she was lying, in the nude, on a metal table. There were straps tying her limbs down to the table as well as her neck. She looked around the room, glancing at all the machinery that was hooked up to her, felt the needles in her arm and the monitors stuck to her chest.

            “Help me…” She murmured to the empty room. “HELP ME!”

            The door opened with a bang and Amélie regretted making a sound at all. No one would hear her here. No one would help her. Gérard had warned her that this could happen.

            _Mon dieu… Gérard._

They would be after him next.

            Footsteps sounded louder and louder. Amélie closed her eyes, fearful for what was about to happen. Her chin was roughly grasped and turned, her eyes opened in shock. She met the eyes of someone dressed in a lab coat, face covered in a mask.

            “Finally awake, I see. Excellent. The reconditioning can begin.” An altered voice came from behind the mask. “Clear your mind.”

            Amélie didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her and her heart rate only increased when she saw the doctor, for lack of a better term, reach for a unfamiliar device. The doctor paused before placing it onto her head. “Calm yourself. Clear your mind.”

            She took a breath and closed her eyes, trying desperately to slow her heart rate. The monitor slowed slightly. The doctor laughed and lowered the device onto her head.

            “Magnifique.”

            Amélie had never felt such excruciating pain before in her life. Her body writhed off of the table, tremors of pain wracking every inch of her body. Tears welled up in her eyes and she called out for anyone who would hear her. The doctor pressed her back down against the table.

            “Your thoughts are being monitored. If we see anything we don’t like, then the pain will come back.” The doctor finally explained to her. “I suggest you calm yourself. Clear your mind.”

            Amélie struggled to do as he said, trying to force all thoughts, strong or weak, out of her mind. The pain lessened. Was this what they would do to Gérard? As soon as his name slipped into her mind, another wave of pain forced its way into her. She screamed again.

            The doctor, seemingly unfazed by her situation, just shrugged his shoulders and turned to leave the room.

            “C’est comme ça.”

* * *

 

            Amélie lost track of the hours. She lost track of the days. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it could have just been a few minutes. Her body trembled from the pain. She ached all over and she couldn’t help but regret the choices she’d made. She’d married Gérard ( _oh, mon dieu, the pain)_ but she really shouldn’t have. She wasn’t built for this kind of torture.

            The pain lessened and she felt bitterness replace her fear. If she hadn’t met him, if she hadn’t married him, then none of this would have happened. Amélie nearly cried as her body was relieved of the pain. It was like a warmth surrounding her, giving her respite for the first time in forever. She breathed in deeply, taking in the oxygen that she desperately needed.

_It’s all Gérard’s fault… this would have never happened if it weren’t for him. Talon doesn’t want me. They want him. They want him. They want him. Not me._

The pain didn’t return. They were satisfied. Her body relaxed, she closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

            Days passed, weeks passed. Once she’d figured out the device, the doctors had released her from her confines. She was still being held in captivity, but she could roam about as she wished. There were many rooms that she didn’t have access to, but this was much better than being confined to a table.

            Amélie now kept a low profile. Some of the agents were actually very good to her, teaching her how to use various weapons to pass the time. She’d taken a particular liking to a sniper rifle she tried the other day. She felt some kind of an attraction to it. She didn’t even think to use it to escape. No, that thought would never cross her mind. How could it? Her superiors wouldn’t like that, so she wouldn’t think it.

            Wandering down a hallway, she saw a piece of paper on the wall. That hadn’t been there the last time she came through here. She stepped closer to it cautiously, wondering if her superiors meant for her to see this. She took one glance at it and saw his name in front of the Overwatch symbol: Gérard. Although the device was no longer on her head, there was a smaller one attached to her arm. The pain wasn’t the first thing that flooded her mind. The pain was completely forgotten.

_No. This is his fault. They want him. Not me._

Without even a second of hesitation, she lunged at the poster, tearing the paper down with her bare hands. If she couldn’t see it, then she wouldn’t think it. If she didn’t think it, they would be satisfied.

            No pain flooded her system. They left her alone. With a nod, she continued on her way.

* * *

 

            The time finally came. She was given a mission from her superiors, not that she’d ever met them. They didn’t want to meet her, so she didn’t need to meet them. She was sat down in a small room, furnished with only a chair and a screen on the wall. She sat in the chair and glanced up.

            _We need you to do something for us. You are going to kill Gérard Lacroix. Do not move._

Rage filled her systems, but the screen demanded that she not move, so she sat still. She settled for glaring at the screen, where his name was. His fault. Want him. Not her.

            _You are going to kill Gérard Lacroix. Do not move._

_You are going to kill Gérard Lacroix. Do not move._

_You are going to kill Gérard Lacroix. Do not move._

She sat there for a days, listening to the screen. It would change occasionally, but still,  she sat.

            _Une balle, un mort._

_Une balle, un mort._

_Une balle, un mort._

She nodded her head at the screen.

            _You are not Amélie. You are Widowmaker._

_You are not Amélie. You are Widowmaker._

_You are not Amélie. You are Widowmaker._

She nodded once more.

“C’est comme ça.”

* * *

 

            “Cherchez la femme!”

The day came. The base was overrun with Overwatch agents. She’d been trained well. Widowmaker went straight into their arms. She did what she was told, she played the victim. As soon as she was retrieved, Overwatched retreated. The arms holding her searched her body, looking for any wounds, any injuries. Jokes on them, they wouldn’t find a thing.

            When she was returned to her home, she hugged Gérard tightly, the rage that filled her was suppressed. _Do not move._ She held herself back as he asked question after question. What did they do? Was she alright?

            “I’m fine. They…they just asked me questions. I said nothing.”

            He didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t have any visible injuries, so what could he say? He hugged her again, seeming to never want to let go.

            She’d never been more disgusted in her life.

            “I’m so glad you’re back, Amélie.

            She didn’t know who he was talking to.

* * *

 

            Finally, the day was here. For two weeks, she’d played the perfect wife. She was given instructions to wait a few weeks, and then destroy her target. There he was, completely solitary, lying on the bed unaware of the danger he was in.

            She wanted to savor the moment because this was the first time since her kidnap that she felt alive. Holding a sniper rifle in her hands, she felt the power surging through her. It was a little ridiculous, having such a powerful weapon for such a close shot, but he deserved it.

            She thought back to everything she’d been through in the last month. All of the pain, all of the struggle. She thought back to the anger and the rage and the betrayal, and she lined up the rifle with his forehead. She looked at his sleeping form with a disconnected disgust. Her heart beat in her ears and though her entire body was trembling with excitement, her finger was dead still on the trigger.

            The control was all hers.

            _Une balle,_

His eyes opened and focused on the rifle in his face. Knowing what was coming and that there was no way out of it, he squeezed his eyes shut.

            _Un mort._

And they would never open again.


End file.
